


Voices on the Edge of Midnight

by thevenbluewrites



Series: The Violet memoir [1]
Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: 1910s, Affairs, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Blood, Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Secret Relationship, Secrets, World War I, mlm, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23550526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevenbluewrites/pseuds/thevenbluewrites
Summary: Four months on from the end of the Great War, Violet's life never got back to normal the way she thought it would. With the increasing decline of Will's mental health, her determination to get to the bottom of his detachment from the world around him makes her question if the two really knew each other at all...
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Tom Blake/William Schofield, William Schofield/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Violet memoir [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914652
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	Voices on the Edge of Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHORS NOTE: THIS PIECE HAS BEEN UPDATED AND WILL NOW BE A SERIES
> 
> So I wanted to write this for weeks and I finally got round to it! Have some angst for the soul I guess.  
> This piece was inspired by Anna Jordan's play 'The Unreturning' which I practiced a monologue from for my drama A-level, which was cancelled by the virus lol.  
> As you may guess by reading this, 1910s Violet is very different from English Computers Violet. But is my (kinda) OC none the less!  
> Also the girls in the photo at the end of the film are Scho's nieces, not daughters. Bitch be too young to be dealing with babies.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Disclaimer: This work contains mentions of PTSD, emotional damage, descriptions of violence and blood, sexual content and scenes which some readers may find distressing.

**February 2nd**

**1919**

**01:18 AM**

Harsh wind blows the thick branches of the bare tree outside against the bedroom window. There is gale with no rain and a whistling groan echoes around the atmosphere. One could say there's a similarity between the wind and a cluster of voices riled with joyous insanity. The storm doesn't pass the panes of glass and the houses thick brick walls however. But to some, it may as well.

Violet stirs with eyes still heavy from sleep. If this were a normal night; she would dismiss this as waking at random, leave a kiss on a sleeping William's cheek and surrender to her tiredness once again. But it's not a normal night. In fact, Violet hasn't experienced a 'normal' night in four years.  
Violet has scolded herself since for believing so hopefully that everything was to go completely back to to the way it was after the wars end. But everything couldn't be more alien.

Instead of finding him sound asleep with his chest going up and down in easy breaths, Violet's hazy vision see's Will sitting on the edge of their bed, covers pulled away and staring blankly out of the window at the weathers commotion. He's swallowed up in it. He doesn't even flinch as the scraping twigs smack upon the glass.   
He's stiff as a wooden board, his hands clenched and fidgeting by his chin, elbows resting tensely on his knees. Even in the dead of night Violet can tell he's sweating.  
She reaches over to him with a tired arm. Her limp fingers brush against the fabric of his night shirt to break him from his spiral. He flinches even at the lightest of her touches, snapping himself around to face her as if threatened.

This is not this situations first occurrence.

"It's ok darling." Violet murmurs with a weighed down voice. "It's only me." Will exhales with a brief feeling of reassurance that is soon replaced again by his frozen stare into nothing. Silence that's only seconds feels like hours as Violet tries to keep her eyes open.

"I need to get somewhere Vi." He whispers as softly as he can manage. "I need to be somewhere but I can't... Remember where."

Violet pushes herself up from where she lies despite exhausted gravity wanting to get the better of her. She hooks her arms underneath her husbands and hugs him gently from behind in an attempt to put him at ease, her legs hanging off the edge of the bed either side of his hips. The absence of the bedcover and sound of the wailing outside sends chills up her bare arms although the air in the room in perfectly still. To still.

"To _sleep_ is what you need to do." Violet mumbles, resting her head on his shoulder. Will still doesn't move.

"In a bit."

"No. Now." Violet beckons, pulling at his chest slightly. "You need to rest."

"I'm not tired."

"You say that almost every night Will." She tries her best to shake off her exhaustion. This has almost become routine. "And almost every night you go back to sleep fine." She nuzzles into the side of his neck as an affectionate form of comfort. "Please? You don't even have to switch your mind off. Just close your eyes." Will reaches to her hand on his collarbone and grips it. A small gesture that sends a wave of warming reassurance though Violet's tired body.  
She lies back down waiting for her husband to follow. The bedcovers are pulled above her shoulders this time and she faces Will and the window. The wind is quieting. The branches are no longer hammering as viscously. Will sighs a deep breath and shakily, but loosely, lies down next to his wife.

He lies flat on his back and stares at the ceiling for a while. Almost mustering the courage to shut his eyes. Violet closes her own but still consciously observes the tense aura emitting from Will. She pulls him in close. Kissing his soft yet unresponsive lips and the corner of his jawline.

"I love you." She whispers.

"I love you too."

But he mumbles it. After finally closing his eyes.

* * *

The Doctors office. A place Violet has avoided for a long while. From the outside, it could look like any other house. The normality scares her. Yet Violet looks up at the door. Nervous but determined. After looking over her shoulder, she reaches to open the door. Clutching the piece of paper with the appointment time written.

In no time however, Violet finds herself sitting at a desk opposite Dr. Westlake, a rather large man with grey hair. He writes notes on a clipboard as Violet speaks.

"Well." She begins. She doesn’t attempt to make eye contact. She just looks at her fidgeting hands in her lap. "It started with a mere disturbance of sleep. William’s that is. He'd find himself stirring earlier than usual with… Shaky breaths and a high heart rate. He'd keep to himself and pretend nothing was wrong."

Westlake looks up from his writing. His eyes are kind and understanding.

"Mrs. Schofield, I assure you this is a regular occurrence. We found that our boys back home from-"

"But Doctor!" Violet interrupts. Westlake is somewhat shocked by her sudden outburst. Violet composes herself quickly and gets herself back on track. She just didn’t want him to use the ‘W’ word. "The wake ups became more and more unsettling. The scared breaths, the weight of the awareness over me, the occasional midnights where William just… would shock himself awake."

Her eyes start to well with tears. _No,_ _not_ _now._ She finally makes eye contact with Westlake. Pleading. Revealing a secret of sorts.

"And some nights are worse than others. And on the occasions when he does sleep, he unconsciously talks in ghost-like, incoherent groans that… chill me to my core.  
I pray to myself that the nights will finish when he finally catches rest. Especially since his sounds are becoming more and more like sentences and words, sentences and words I’m terrified one day I might understand!-"

"Mrs Schofield. Please remain calm. I understand this may be a frightening occurrence, but no need for hysterics."

Violet sighs and looks to her feet. She hates that word. Hysterics. The paper on the doctors clipboard rustles as he re-reads his own writing.

"Is your husband back to work?"

"No… Well he’s meant to go back next week. It only took him long because he was wounded."

"Alright. May I ask how?"

Violet is silent for a few seconds. She’s not entirely telling the truth. of course: Will has refused to go back to work. His injuries healed months ago.

"His right arm was broken in two places. And he had an infection on his right hand. He’s only healed just now"

Westlake takes one last glance at his notes before placing his clipboard beside him. He looks at Violet with his fingers intertwined, removing his wire rim glasses. Violet can tell he's had this conversation with many ex-soldiers and their wives over and over and over again.

"Mrs. Schofield. I can assure you that your husband is not the first lad back to be suffering these sorts of bereavements. Unfortunately we cannot admit him to any of our services unless we have his consent in person. Although I admire your care for him, it's not your job as a wife to do these things yourself." Violet looks to the side and chews the inside of her cheek. "However. May I ask you to keep a close watch on him? Especially when he goes back to work. And if any of his behaviour changes or gets worse over the coming week, bring him here and we’ll try our best to see to him and admit him somewhere with the right facilities.

Violet looks back at him. Hopeful. Thankful.

* * *

Clara Ashing, a wealthier and, in Violets opinion, unbearable woman, stands opposite the counter. She places rolls of green thread on the surface. Her clothes and hair are perfect and pristine and fluffy feathers stick out of red ribbon on her new hat.

"A roll of olive drab please." 

Violet nods. There is no effort on her behalf to be friendly. As she turns to pull the fabric off the wall behind her, Clara snidely looks her up and down.

"You ought to wear something other than blue?" Clara mutters. The sun is beginning to set over town and Violet counts down the minutes till she can finish her shift, go home and rest for as long as she can manage before having to be on her feet again.

In all honesty, after an almost sleepless night, she would rather be back listening to Will's unconscious undead impersonation than to Clara Ashing's sly remarks about almost everything she wears, says or does.

"This is my first time wearing blue this week." Violet states, turning around. Clara fiddles with her necklace, not taking her purchase just yet. 

"Yes but you wore that same dress an awful lot last week. And the week before." Violet can sense the sour and digging tone in Clara's voice, making her blood bubble. She can tell off the bat that Clara is subtly pointing out Violet's inability to afford newer and classier dresses. She has no interest about the colours she wears at all. "Is William back at work yet?"

Violet gives Clara a hard smack with her eyes, hating her for behaving so vilely. Of course Will is still unable to work, why else would Violet be working hours at this godforsaken store? A place she would love to come in her teen years but now can't stand the sight of. The money barely comes in and Violet hates to admit that Will is one of the few men home from war who are late adjusting back to their lives. She glares. Struggling to remain professional.

"I wouldn't be here if he was. What an utterly stupid question." Clara's lips purse.

However, from behind Clara, Violet catches the eye of another one of the shops workers, Birdie Lewis. 19 years of age and one of the haberdashery's newest employees. They make eye contact for a split second before Birdie breaks away, embarrassed. She seemed to also be making spiteful eyes at Clara. Violet and Birdie hardly ever talked as Birdie worked at the back of the shop most of the time. But Violet had noticed how very beautiful she was and, unlike Clara, didn't even have to try.

Yet, Violet composes herself, embarrassed slightly at her miniature outburst. "Forgive me... That fabric is fifteen pounds. Five for the threads." Clara awkwardly passes Violet the money, tutting before leaving. Finally, Violet watches her wobble on her heels down the street and out of view.   
"Maybe blue is just my favourite colour." Violet mumbles with distain under her breath, rearranging ribbon racks under the counter. "Bloody patronising cow."

"Spot of bother there Mrs. Schofield?" Mr. Fenton, the stores manager, asks while entering from the back. Violet sighs, as he's obviously showing off his own bout of sarcasm having heard her curse filled mumbles.

"Apologies sir, not having the best day in the book if I'm honest with you."

"Well save it for those who want to hear it. You may know Mrs. Ashing outside of work but here she's to be treated with the respect customers deserve." He raises a stern eyebrow and leaves Violet by herself again.

 _You can shove it as well_ she thinks

Finally, Violet makes her way back home. Or a home of sorts. She can't remember the last time she felt properly at home.  
As she walks down the ever-changing directions of the pavement, she does her best to live in the moment. She listens to the wind whistling calmly, as well as the passing of vehicles and giggles of babies in prams. She watches the remnants of the winter daylight fade as the sun sets lower, breathing in the crisp air and paying no attention to the chill that tries to pass through her coat and woollen scarf.

"Violet!"

She turns to the shrill sound of her name being called. 

"Violet Violet Violet!"

Birdie runs towards her, waving something in the air like an excited puppy. Her blue-green eyes are wide and she smiles at Violets attention. She holds her hat to her head of short sandy locks as she runs. Violet stops walking and lets her catch up. Hopefully this means she won't be walking home by herself. Birdie finally catches up, slightly out of breath.

"Hey! You left your gloves at the shop. I got them back for you. I must say they’re a lovely colour! And texture. Must be warm on your hands!" She notices Violet is not all there: _Am_ _I_ _annoying_ _her? "_ Hey. Are you alright."

"I’m… fine." Violet breathes as the two walk on.

"Is it Clara?" Birdie asks raising her brows. "Honestly don’t pay any attention to her, love. Delilah told me that Florence told her that Clara told Caroline that she thought my eyeliner made me look like a whore last week so... Last time I associate myself with any of that lot."

"Yes. She’s a piece of work." Violet agrees. "No though, it's not Clara it's... Well-"

"Yes?"

"I feel my mind dwell more on things I'd rather not think about these days. At all. Like all of Clara's snide remarks and this poor paying job and the fact that I have to carry everything and everyone on my shoulders and have done for the last four years."

Birdie's natural smile fades slightly.

"Oh dear... I know how that feels."

"I guess many of us do still. I’d give anything to be like all those other women; at home with the…" She pauses. Hopeful? Uncomfortable? Sad? "Family. living a life in loving bliss." She wants to choose her words carefully. Birdie had lost most of the men in her life to the battlefield. At least Violet was slightly more fortunate to still have Will at her side, no matter how broken he is.

"I get that. I’d love to go back to dancing the night away."

"So how’s your Winston then?"

"William."

"Yes of course, that's it! Sorry."

Violet laughs lightly. But then goes back to looking down at her walking feet.

"He's... home. Doing nothing. Nothing to help me at least. Sometimes he reads. Sometimes he's in the garden watching the birds. I hope he's doing something besides staring into space at least. But it's most likely that he isn’t. Birdie stops them both in their tracks. She furrows her brows and displays a grumpy look. 

"That's harsh on him Violet, let him recover. Don't let your patience fall short now."

"No… You’re right. Sorry."

Birdie smiles again. They continue to walk. Down and down the winding streets as the road gets narrower.

"Not to worry love."

They keep talking. About themselves. Making sure to steer from the negative. Until, that is, Birdie veers away to her road, waving a chirpy goodbye. Violet watches her walk away. Her eyes are wider and calmer than we’ve previously seen.

The keys get stuck in the lock when Violet arrives to the front door. Gravity settling in again. Violet curses and twists as hard as she can, nudging the door with her knee to loosen the hinges while she's at it. Finally she's able to enter her own house, a tingle of fury in her nerves as she's been left to her own thoughts to long.

But she's the figurehead now, so she can't let it get the best of her. 

Its late evening, the house is mundane and quiet. Violet hangs her coat and hat up. 

Dim lights.

The tap in the kitchen drip, drip, drips into the sink. 

Violet walks in expecting to find Will sitting in one of his trances. But he's not. She wonders back through the house, looks through the living room doorframe; He's not there either. Violet clenches her teeth. While walking up the stairs, she remembers Will's smile. His proper smile, not his nervous one. She remembers the brilliance of his blue eyes when they first met.

And she hates how it's reduced to a memory.

She opens the bedroom door, of course, not feeling the need to knock. But soon realising that it might not have been a bad idea to.   
Will's sitting at the desk in the corner of the room. He gasps with shock and somewhat embarrassment at the sound of the clicking door. He'd been writing. Violet hadn't seen him do that before, at least not in front of her. Upon seeing her in the doorframe, he shoves the sheets of written paper quickly but neatly into the old backpack by his feet. The backpack he'd brought home from the trenches, still scruffy and caked, in some patches, with mud.  
Violet is spooked and confused by his sudden secrecy.

"What on earth are you doing?" Violet remarks. Will darts his eyes to face her, trying to appear completely innocent.

"Writing?"

"Writing what?" a slight pause.

"Just a diary entry. I felt pent up." Will slows himself down with his words, pushing the backpack underneath the table with his foot. Violet sighs in infuriation as mud crumbles off its surface and into the carpet.

"Oh Will for Gods sake I told you to throw this thing away, it's destroyed and getting crap everywhere!" She kneels down to move it, but Will diverts her away.

"Don't touch it!" He exclaims, shocking Violet and picking the bag up off the ground. He notices the flicker of fearful confusion in Violets eyes, so composes himself. "I'll move it for you." He tucks the backpack away between the wardrobe and the wall as Violet sits on the bed watching him. Will keeps his eyes to the floor. It's almost as if his mind flips a switch and he suddenly zones himself out, turning away from a sitting Violet and making his way slowly back down the stairs. Violet chews her tongue to suppress her irritation at both his sharpness and emotional distance. But this may be the last leg for her. She gets up and follows him, taking the pins out of her hair to relieve stress on her head.

"Will." No response. "Will!" Still nothing. She follows him further through the house. "Hello Violet, I love you Violet, how was your day Violet?" She sarcastically mimics what used to be his normal tone in order to elicit some type of reaction.

Will shakes himself awake, although he was never asleep.

"Sorry sorry, I'm being selfish." _Finally, he admits it._ "How are you-"

"I slept awfully as you are probably aware!" Violet spits, throwing her handbag onto one of the dining table chairs. "That was my fourth seven hour shift this week! I’m being pestered and picked on by the women who come in every day, my boss is a prick, I'm exhausted, thirsty, hungry and my mind feels like it’s wrapped in elastic!"

There's a silent beat in the air. Will looks guilty but struggles for words as he always does. He timidly sits in the nearest chair.

"Oh… Sorry."

"Why are _you_ sorry?"

"Well, I don't know. Maybe because you're so angry at me all the time Violet?" This is the loudest his volume has been all week. "It's not fair!"

"Because we're always having this conversation! _That’s_ not fair! It’s so ridiculous; why are you lazing around here all day while I'm the one one working?"

"Ok well, that’s not true! I hung out the laundry, I dusted the house, I've been writing and reading and keeping myself at bay." His eyes suggest that he know's he's losing the argument. "What more do you want!?"

"I want you _back_ William. You feel a million miles away!"

Another silence. Longer this time. These words have triggered a deep anxiety within him, Violet can tell immediately. But it had to be raised. 

"I-"

"Shh." Violet immediately shuts him down.

"Vi-"

"SHHH!!"

There's something about the silence in the room that's all to unfamiliar. A type that there's never been before, even when Will returned home. Violet realises what's throwing her off sooner than later.

The absence of their Grandfather clocks ticking. Never ever has it stopped working until now unless-

"William." Violet quietly but sternly states his name like a fact. "What did you do to the clock?" Will picks at his fingernails. "It didn't just stop by itself what have you done?"

"It... It scared me." Violet rolls her eyes. "I know! I know that sounds ridiculous but it was unsettling it just-"

"Stop it. Just stop it. It's a household appliance. And if it bothers you so much then go outside! Even better, go to work!"

"I'll bring in the clothes-"

"Forget the bloody laundry! You were supposed to go back to the office three weeks after getting home. It’s been four months! I’m surprised your position’s still open! Why is it so hard for you to go back to normal-

"Won't you _ever_ just _shut_ _up_ about normal!? What even _is_ normal!?" Will yells, his voice ripping through the air as he lunges out of his chair, towards Violet.

"Normal doesn’t consist of stopping clocks because they scare you or avoiding the train stations because they’re too loud!!" She screams, trying to make herself heard over him like a barking drill Sargent, standing on her toes to assert herself. Will's abrupt anger instantly melts like ice. He grabs Violet's forearms tightly with an expression like a frightened schoolboy.

"Please don't make me go!" He frantically chokes. "I promise I’ll make it up to you! Promise! Just please don't make me go! Give me another week! Please! Don’t make me do it now!"  
His eyes are panicked and erratic. Violet wriggles away from him, yanking herself from his grip.

"Stop causing a scene William, you're acting like a maniac!

She’s finally free of his hold. However, the sudden release makes her stumble backwards and knock the ceramic vase of flowers from the kitchen table with her hand. It collides with the hard tiled floor and smashes.

Violet balls up her firsts and punches the air in frustration, finally at her wits end.

"For Gods sake!!" She screams like a banshee.

Knowing he's lost the fight, Will leaves the room. Knocking Violets shoulder with his own as he goes. Violet stands in the remains of the crash, knowing this wasn't her fault but feeling bad none the less. The last thing she wants is for things to be left on a bad note. The least they can all do right now is act like everything is perfect and that they have the whole wide world in their hands.  
Violet slowly approaches Will in the living room, he's hunched over with his head in his hands. She sits down next to him and gently removes him from himself. Holding him with loving arms as the world stops turning. He doesn't hug back, but Violet knows he accepts her affection gratefully.

She holds his face in her hands and attempts to bring his eyes to her own. He's reluctant. 

"What's wrong Will?" She whispers. "Why do you keep doing that? Tell me what's wrong."

"It's fine." He murmurs, exhausted. "I'm... fine."

* * *

The sky is the colour of coal, but it's not a terrifying void. It's like a smooth sheet of black satin. The clouds block out the moon. The wind no longer howls like injured wolves. By all definitions, it should be the perfect winter evening.

The inside of Will's head is the opposite of this peacefulness. All he can see, hear and feel is a numbing static. He tries to ignore it. _Now's not the time, now's not the time, now's not the time._

There's a dim glowing candle on the bedside table that serves as the only light in the bedroom. It's iridescence creates contrasting golden highlights on Violet's skin. The dark orange shadows seem to overweigh them however.  
She's underneath him.   
Her fingers trail across his cheekbones, down his jaw, until eventually her arms wrap around the back of his neck. Violet presses her lips passionately to Wills own, she has no trouble losing herself. Will however, looks at the candle. Looks at the light. The light he knows is there completely.

"Too dark." He mumbles against his wife's mouth, his body stiffens again. Violet sighs in disappointment.

"It's the same as it always is." She breathes, caressing his face. He's still not looking at her. "Will?"

 _"It's ok, no one can see us." "I know." "_ _What do you mean you know? You didn't even look! You make me laugh sometimes."_ _"Do you ever stop talking?" "Do you ever talk at all?" "Smartass." "Go on Scho, make me stop talking-"_

"Will, what's wrong?" Violet's voice breaks from the whisper she's been holding.

"Nothing." He blinks. "I love you."

"Show me." _"Show me"_

Will breaks from his mind as best he can, burying his head in the crook of Violets neck and guiding his hands to her hips. He holds her close. She gasps quietly. Violet grips his shoulder blades in longing. Her hair smells of roses and he feels a smile on her face and her _his_ skin is warm and soft and-

_Tom_

Will draws away, Violet whimpers at the sudden loss of his body to hers. His hands start to shake. 

"Hey. It's ok" Violet reassures him with soft words, sitting up to get close to him. "You're ok. It's just me." She tries to gain his eye contact again; a constant task. They aren't blue anymore, they're a washed out grey. _Where have you gone_ she thinks.  
The two sit up in each others arms for a while. The candle flickers though the air seems still as can be. Will keeps his head rested on Violets shoulder. As close as they are as two human beings, Will still feels completely detached. From both his wife and from the world around him. His brain is scratching and looping like a broken record.

"Want to try again?" Violet whispers, hand on the back of his head. Will nods, hoping for this as a distraction and resumes his position before. All of his breaths are shallow and light. Violet dismisses this as a finally found ecstasy. She tugs on his hair and bites on his bottom lip. She dismisses everything as normal as she's been dying to for such a long time: the shaking, the breathing, subtle trembles.  
Will tries to remain as calm as he can-

_"You're turning soft, you are." "As if you're not." "Shut up, you love me to bits." "You're full of yourself Blake." "Wouldn't have had me in your mouth like that if you didn't think I was the bees bloody knees." "You're insufferable." "And you're smiling."_

Violet smiles. Or at least, Will believes she's smiling. He finds it harder and harder to identify smiles these days. She shushes him, she kisses him again. And again. Her legs are tightly wrapped around his waist. He can't move.

_You can't breath Will._

Violets cheeks are the colour of roses.

_There's blood._

Skin on skin.

_There's blood on your hands Will._

There's heat. It's like fire. Like white fire. Like the single candle has set the room alight.

_The town's on fire. Everything's in ruins, everything's on fire. You're not safe._

Violet gasps for air underneath him- _he's underneath you, he's in pain_ \- Her breath shudders in and out- _as death sets in. There's no way out. There's no air. He's heavy. Deadweight. This is your fault. Your fault Will. You did this. You were too late. You let him die. You left him to rot-_ Will glances to Violet-

_It's not her. He's looking at Will with dead glassy eyes, thick dark blood dripping from his mouth. But he's grinning. He's grinning although he's dying, dying, dying, dead. There's blood in his teeth, his lips. So much blood in his beautiful smile. It's tormenting._

_"Did you find my brother?"_

Will bolts up. As if he's charged with electricity, he wretches himself from Violets hold. His breathing is rapid and laced with fear, shock and upset. Violet is stunned by his sudden recline. She looks at him with fright and confusion as he struggles for air. It becomes clear to her that he has no sense of where he is. Or who he is. He grabs, with awfully uneasy hands, whatever bedsheets are astray to cover himself. He stares into nothing with everything violently shuddering. He's cold with fear.

"Will! Oh my God I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you? What's wrong? Tell me what's wrong?" Will keeps flinching from Violets attempted touches. "Look at me! For Gods sake Will! Look at me!" She grabs his face and forces their profiles to align- _Blood on his chest, blood on his neck, in his mouth._

_"Don't leave me Scho! Come back to me! Take me with you!"_

Will smacks Violets hands away, quick as a flash, and curls into a ball, his fists tight in a grip.  
And he screams. Desperate wails of misery and despair, every muscle and vein in his body tenses with the effort needed for them.

There is nothing Violet can do.

He screams and screams and screams.

* * *

_Dearest Eleanor,_

_I hate to be writing you this letter, but your brothers condition has gotten worse in these last days. I've been working hard hours to get him to be seen. Our local doctor has been in touch with me since Wills first breakdown and it looks like he will have to be hospitalised in the upcoming months. However, I am not completely certain of how long until that'll be. In the meantime, I think it's important he see's you and his nieces. I need all the help I can get to remind him he's alive._

_Come for Dinner a week from now? Or whenever this letter finds you._

_All the best, your sister-in-law,_

_Violet_

She slips the letter into a small brown envelope, addresses it, stamps it and tucks it into her bag in order to post it later.

"Will darling?" Violet timidly enters the living room. Will lies on the sofa, on his side with his eyes heavy lidded. A low tune sounds on their record player to keep him at peace. "I'm going to fix up the bedroom ok? The doctor will be here in about forty minutes so keep an ear out?"

"Course love." He breathes, completely lifeless.

Violet chews the inside of her cheek while sadly and tiredly walking back up the stairs. She can hear the music fade the further up she goes.   
It took an hour and a half to settle Will to slumber last night. Now, mid afternoon, Violet feels it all catch up with her. She fights back tears relentlessly as she changes the sheets, dusts the shelves and arranges clothes in the drawers.   
There is a dress of hers that Will washed in the laundry the other day despite her not wearing it for months. She sighs as she looks at it in her hands; Will used far too much soap which began to wash out its red colour. She goes to hang it in the wardrobe. And then her eyes catch something glinting in the light of the window.

Between the wall and the wardrobe: A brass buckle barely shining. The buckle of Wills army backpack. She remembers Wills secrecy over its contents and a voice tells her to look. There are two possible outcomes to that situation. She'll either look and find the answers to Will's distress and will be able to help him or she'll look and find the answers to Will's distress and destroy herself in the process.

Violets curiosity gets the better of her. She kneels and reaches for the bag, pulling it from where it's wedged next to the wall. Mud breaks off the bottom and gets into the carpet but Violet doesn't care at this point. 

She opens the top pocket, ignoring the musty and earthy smell. The first thing she spots is a small beige envelope in a separate pocket. Inside are small photographs, three to be exact.

Violet can barely make them out. They're barely developed, monochrome fading into itself. They include Will and another young man in all three of them. One in the trenches, the other two must have been before they left for France.

The other young man in question looks younger than Will but around the same age group as him and Violet, with big eyes and curly brown hair (when it isn't covered by his Brodie helmet). A wide smile stretches across his face in one of them. It's unsettling in a way. Like he's teasing her. Chanting silly schoolboy taunts

_"I know something you don't know."_

Violet puts them back, as not to distract herself from what she _was_ looking for:

The crumpled sheets of writing paper forced inside the day before.

Violet un-scrunches them and begins to read, hating her own nosiness, knowing she'd be mortified if Will found out, but doing so anyway:

_I hate that it was you._   
_You deserved everything. I could have given you everything._   
_I can hear you right now telling me to shut up and stop being overdramatic._   
_I did what you asked. I did it for you. I did it in hope it would all stop._   
_It didn't._

The writing is recent. Violet can tell. The ink still had the ability to smudge on her fingers. They can't be letters to her unsent from the trenches. In fact, Will barely sent any.

Did Will hate something she had done? That wasn't surprising considering his state. But so far... He hadn't done anything she had asked. Even if it was for his own benefit. She moves to the next one, an older letter, hoping sense will be made. This one could be from the trenches. Violet can't tell properly.

_Everyday I miss you._   
_I don't want to be here at all. I don't want to be here._

Well, obviously. War was hell by the sound and looks of it. That made sense. But if the chance he didn't write this in the trenches was factual, why would he hate it in his own home?

  
_We should have run away like you said, risked everything._

Why is he writing this? Is he conspiring to run away? Who with?

  
_You can't hear me. I hope you hear me. But you don't._   
_Come back. Please please come back. I hate that you're gone._   
_It's an endless blur. All of it._   
_The days and nights are so long. I can't sleep. I can't sleep._   
_I can't feel you breathing._ _The whole time it was you and it will always be you. _  
_ And you're no longer here. You're there and not here. _

Her soul leaves her body for a split second, like she had been doused in ice water as, suddenly, she realises:

They're not to her.

They're to someone else.

Someone else.

Who? WHO?!

It pains her. But she can't stop reading what comes next, the uglier and more distorted it gets.

_I can't live. I can't think or breathe or anything._   
_I miss everything. I miss your stories and your smile and your laughter and everything I thought I didn't need._   
_I didn't know how lost I was. I'm lost again._

_It's my fault all of it is my fault i should have done something i was useless and now you're gone i could have brought you out of this_   
_Its my fault everything is my fault i hate it i hate it i hate it_

And then the last 'letter'. Which is just the words "I love you" and "I miss you" written everywhere in every direction on the same sheet of paper. It's not even his handwriting anymore. Violet chokes out an overwhelmed sob, covering her mouth with her hand. She tosses the paper to one side as if swinging a punch at whatever woman Will describes on it. She remembers Sybil Wisely complaining in the shop about how she found out her husband Leo had been with 'one of those French whores.' It couldn't be more clear that what's driving Will mad is his guilt for leaving behind his mistress and going back to a woman he doesn't love. And not being able to tell his own wife about his unfaithfulness.

It stings like venom. 

The record player from downstairs scratches. Violets sadness turns to anger as she's brought back into herself. She gets up and storms out of the room. Enough is enough. She doesn't care how sick he is. She carries the letters as evidence against him.

William sits normally on the sofa now. Looking into space. The door flies open. Violet stamps into the room and stumbles as she passes the doorframe. There is nothing but betrayal and fury on her face. She shakes. She clutches the paper in her hands so tightly her fingernails still manage to engrain their shape into her skin. Naturally, at the crashing and banging, Will reacted to her entrance straight away. Jolting to face her. But, of course, no words. He looks at her stunned like a dear in headlights.

"Violet?"

"Who is she?" Violet growls, her heart hammering against her ribcage. She slowly brings the letters up to her face. "Who. is. She?"

Will instantly sees the letters. His face goes numb, mouth hanging slightly open, free from any expression except hurt. He feels just as betrayed as she did, only he had no strength to show it anymore. He freezes like the record. A statue. Un-polished marble. 

"Was it... Was it that French girl?" Violet uses every muscle to compose herself. No response. Sad staring. "That girl. That girl with the baby. Was it her?"

"No." Barely a word. 

"Was it a nurse? Another French woman? The 'farmers daughter'? A Belgian prostitute?" Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. "You can't lie to me now William. I know too much." She moves closer, spite radiating off her being. She hates him. No, she hates how much she'll still love him. That's exactly it. She'll still love him to bits and his mind will forever be elsewhere. "Who was she?" She has the higher ground, but only by walking on a tightrope. "Bet you _really_ miss her..."

Will turns his head from her. He mumbles. Not even that; an incoherent whisper.

"What?" Violet asks, desperate to get to the bottom of it all.

Will slowly, stiffly, agonisingly meets her damp eyes again. 

"Him."

And for two hour long seconds, there is no breathing between either of them. 

"Also, Violet?" Will learns to speak again. Violet can't now however. She stands there stunned, unable to form correct breaths. "How dare you look through my things. How fucking dare you..."

"How dare _I_?" Violet whispers in soulful pain after five more seconds of deathly quiet. "All that time... I thought you were hurt or in pain because you weren't sending any letters-"

"Don't start-"

"When you'd come home distant and I thought it was because you were just tired-"

"Violet-"

"When really?! Really, you'd found another. Not even another...woman." She can't even look at him properly without feeling ill. "On those bloody leaves of yours/ You're just a bad as that sleaze Sybil calls a husband. No... You're worse. According to literally anyone who would find out. Worse."

She walks to the window, the view being her only escape for now.

"You- I trusted you! I thought you were different." Wills hands begin to shake violently. His breathing deepens. Violet blocks it right out. "Should've known deprived men fuck anything that moves." 

"You are so-!" Will stands up in a heartbeat. His voice booming. Violet spins around, in shock and instant regret at what she said. He clenches his teeth in infuriation as he looks for words. "Don't say another word! You have no idea what kind of horrors I've witnessed! You never ask, you always change the subject-"

"What and so you fucked someone else?!" Violet screams, throwing the remaining tears of paper in her hands on the floor. Her heartbeat feels like it's in her throat. 

"You don't understand!!"

"What is there to understand!?" Violet shrieks as she advances toward Will, her hands poised in an attacking manner. She's rough and close to panic. She's demanding. Like a grown man.

Like a Lieutenant.

 _"Lance Corporal! Are you insane man?! Get back!"  
The bomb goes off, shrapnel and splinters fly everywhere. The air is knocked out of Will's lungs/_Violets lungs. Will has grabbed her as tight as a vice by both arms, slamming her back into the wall:

"YOU DON'T EVEN NEED TO WORRY ABOUT HIM ANYWAY YOU GODDAMN BITCH! HE'S DEAD! HE DIED RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY FACE AND I COULDN'T SAVE HIM! HE IS GONE FOREVER! WHAT A ABSOLUTE WASTE! HE WAS THE ONLY THING GOOD ABOUT THAT HELLSCAPE! BUT HE'S DEAD! I TURNED AROUND FOR A SECOND AND NOW HE'S DEAD! SO NOW I HAVE TO LIVE WITH IT! AND I HAVE TO LIVE WITH NEVER FEELING TRUELY HAPPY EVER AGAIN BECAUSE OF A MISTAKE ON MY PART! YOU HAVE NO IDEA! I WISH IT WASN'T HIM! I WISH IT WAS YOU! I WISH IT WAS ME!!!"

Total deathly silence. The only sounds that can be heard are Wills tight and shaking breaths. His face white with loss of control.  
He looks as if he's been shot in the chest and realising the impact silently. He lets go of his terrified wife with violently shaking hands, looking at them in horror. Violet comes away from the wall every so slowly as if not to trigger something else. Suddenly, everything is clear to her. This isn't just something Will can get rid of or change. She understands now.

Then he breaks.

Like stitches coming apart, Will completely pulls loose. Crumbling like wet sand, he falls to the floor and wails like a frightened kid on a ghost train. Lost but freed. Overwhelmed by the freedom of letting go but destroyed by the memories it all brings back. Guilt ridden at what he has said and done to his own wife. But not taking it back for a minute.  
And distraught knowing that life will never ever go back to how it was.  
Violet realises this is the first time she's seen him cry like this. She has no idea what to do. So she does the only thing she knows how.

She sits down beside Will and pulls him into her embrace. He clings to her for dear life, choking out uncontrolled sobs and gasps. The energy of years worth of repressed emotion. It keeps coming. Violet draws circles on his back as he collapses further into her, kissing his head. She hums a soft tune under her breath to sooth him.

All that exists is the present. Their future is uncertain.

On the next street down, Birdie sews Violet a new dress...

_"Would you write to me? When we come out of this?" "If. Not when." "Nah. When. Come on, have faith." "If you insist. Then... Yes." "I'll write back! I'll have plenty of stories to tell!" "I look forward to it... I'd miss you." "I'd miss you too. But I'm not gone yet Scho, don't look so glum."_


End file.
